Going Home (Moving On, Part 1)
by GildaMulberry
Summary: Set after Series 4 / Ep. 4 - Camille is leaving for her new job in Paris. Hopes, dreams and fears are on her mind, the unknown is waiting for her… (This story was stolen and posted here under a different name. It's been taken down in the meantime. This is the original and part 1 of a series)
1. Leaving

Camille Bordey was on a plane, travelling to France once again. She had done this so often… and still it was always new - and exciting. This time it felt a lot like when she had left for her training in the police years and years ago… she hadn't had a clue about what was waiting for her. A strange city, strange people, strange customs and traditions… Although her mother was French and had raised her with the traditions of her home country, these had mixed with the Caribbean customs as well as the English traditions common on the island – and of course, over the years, more and more international practices had found their way into life on Saint Marie. It had been interesting to be in her mother's home country and finally see it all for real.

Of course, she wasn't the young and hopeful girl any more that she had been back then. So much had happened since that first flight to France… She had had to find her feet in Paris, and although that had been challenging at first, the city had become her second home after a while. She had learnt so much during her time in Paris… she had met so many wonderful – and a couple of awful – people, made friends, attended training with all its comprehensive aspects, including courses in psychology and forensics, worked in various projects… it had been a rich and interesting period in her life. She had never been naïve, but of course back on Saint Marie, life was different, and living in the capital city of a big European country was a whole different thing. So, she had learnt many, many new things – that had nothing to do with the training or the job later on…

For a while she had loved it – but when the chance had come to move back to the Caribbean, she had been happy to take it. She had been perfect for that undercover job… she blended in with the natives, and she appeared to be easy going and was friendly with everyone, so people trusted her quickly. She had learnt with time that most people liked to talk about themselves, and her compassionate demeanour encouraged people to open up to her beyond the usual chit-chat…

She had slipped back into 'island mode' very quickly, and the fact that she loved her home had helped her to make peace with the fact that her undercover job had not lasted as long as it had been planned. Working with Richard Poole had been another entirely new experience. She had never met anybody like him, and in the beginning, she had thought she could never adjust to working with him. That had changed eventually, and after having been his sidekick for a while, she had developed decidedly deeper feelings for him. Two years had gone by… two years full of mutual teasing and challenging, interrupted by perfect moments of being in tune with each other… and when she had welcomed him back after a week of house-and-lizard-sitting during his brief stay in London, she had known that she didn't want him to leave again.

He had never made an obvious move towards her, but they had spent more time together outside of work, and she had been sure that he'd finally come round and ask her out some time… and then, disaster had struck, and he had been taken away from her. She had never been so shocked in her life before – and she had cried rivers over losing him.

Then, DI Humphrey Goodman had appeared on the scene… he was a completely different character. He was brilliant in his own way, but also screwed up in his own way… Camille had appreciated how he had solved his first case on Saint Marie – he had done his best to be understanding and patient about the team not only losing their boss, but also a friend. And with time, she had learnt to work with him, too. But it had never been as exhilarating as working with Richard had been – both in the good and in the not so good sense of the word.

Much of the time she had felt like she was babysitting him – he was clumsy beyond belief, and she had constantly been trying to save him from getting himself into embarrassing situations. She had known that comparing the two men was unfair – they were different, and that didn't mean one was better than the other – but she couldn't help it… The contrast between the two just was too striking. The aspects they had in common were that they both were excellent detectives – and that they both were somewhat nutty. Camille had been wondering more than once if the latter was a prerequisite for the former in the Met…

The last one and a half years since Humphrey's arrival had made it entirely clear for her, though, that she couldn't possibly stay on Saint Marie. She had known it in her heart already when he had showed up, and more than once she had been tempted to just leave… There was no point for her in staying on the island any more. She had secretly looked around for new jobs on the French force's website, but nothing interesting had been available. So, when eventually the opportunity had come up to go back to the French force, she had grabbed it. And Humphrey had almost messed up again – she had known that his affection for her would become an issue one day. The only reason why she had been so forgiving when he finally had informed her that he had wanted to hold her back but had changed his mind was that she had known that if it didn't work out this time, there'd be people who'd take influence so she could get a transfer eventually, and if worst came to worst, she had seriously considered quitting her job altogether. Of course, it would be much easier with a transfer – having a secure job would give her the means and the status that she needed to survive.

After Richard's sudden and unexpected disappearance, it had taken her a while to open up to people again, and she had half-heartedly seen a few men and gone on a couple of pseudo-dates – basically to pass time. None of them had been a success – naturally not - , but none of them had been a disaster, either. The truth was… she wasn't really interested, but she had welcomed the distraction. After a while, though, it got old. That had also been why she had spent so much time with Humphrey and the team outside of work. She had felt 'safe' because Humphrey was married – until she had to realise that his marriage had fallen apart…

Shortly afterwards, Fidel had left the team… and things had become more difficult. Humphrey had relied more on her than ever before – the Commissioner had helped out for a little while until they had found a substitute for Fidel, and of course. Humphrey couldn't possibly work together with his boss the way he had worked with Fidel... Then Florence had come, and the team dynamics had changed again. It had been nice to have a female colleague. Florence had become a friend, and Camille had noticed that she had tried to find out what her – Camille's – feelings were for their boss – discreetly, of course, but obvious for Camille. That had been the moment when Camille (much to her relief) had known she could finally leave without having to feel guilty. She had known that Florence would take care of him, and she could move on and go her own way without looking back.

Until her departure, she had deliberately ignored that Humphrey had fallen in love with her – or rather, that he had thought he had fallen in love with her. She had been well aware of the fact that she had been pretty much the only woman on the island that he had seen on a regular basis, and the contrast between her and Sally had made him realise that he didn't want to go back to his ex-wife because he had changed and wanted something different now. In one word, it would have been a rebound romance, and Camille hadn't been up to that. No, not at all. She liked him as a friend, and she hoped they'd always be friends, but that was it.

She had been touched by his goodbye gift… that compass ring had been a thoughtful token, and she appreciated the thought behind it. And she had kissed him goodbye… but it hadn't meant more to her than just that – saying goodbye. She could be generous – she was leaving to start a new life… without him. She knew that he'd get over her. He had Florence now, and he wasn't the type whose love could withstand the distance. He needed to be physically close to the person he loved. He needed constant attention, physical presence, support and companionship. That was good and well, and she knew there was nothing bad about it. It just wasn't the kind of love that would survive months of separation. And actually, that was good – it set her free. She didn't have to feel bad for not returning his feelings. Hers were engaged otherwise, and she knew he wouldn't understand because he didn't 'roll that way', as the saying went.

Camille took out the file that she had been given by the Commissioner just before he had officially seen her off and given her her papers and documents in the Government House the night before she had left. When she had called him after Humphrey's confession that he had almost held her back, he had asked her to meet there because he had a dossier that he wanted to give her. He had also come to the ferry, in plainclothes for a change, and waved her goodbye, but that had been his private decision. He had wished her good luck and happiness… and there had been a twinkle in his eyes. Whatever that had meant… She wondered briefly how much he knew about her reasons to leave. But it didn't really matter – she was gone now, and that was all that counted.

The file contained important documents about who'd be her contact person in Paris, when and where she would have to show up, the interim address where she'd stay during the first few weeks, and a brief description of the department she'd join. It seemed to be a more complex affair than she had imagined in the first place, but well, she had never shied away from a challenge.

The Commissioner had informed her that Paris had booked her on the next flight – she'd have to pick up her ticket and boarding pass at the airport - and she'd start her job on the following Monday… that gave her almost an entire week to adjust to European climate and weather conditions. She had packed lightly as she knew she'd need an entire new wardrobe, anyway, but she had brought a few warmer clothes… she'd go clothes shopping when she had more information about her new position – then she'd know what style she would have to focus on. It all depended on the impression she would be supposed to make…

Interesting enough, when she showed up at the counter at the airport, she was also given a connection ticket to another destination, along with the note that someone would meet her at the airport there… and a ticket from there to Paris for Sunday afternoon… She'd have to pick up her luggage in Paris because it wasn't checked through to her final destination, but she only had one suitcase, anyway, and she saw she'd have enough time… there were more than 6 hours between the flights. She didn't quite know what to make of all that, but well, she'd find out…


	2. In Transit

The landing had gone smoothly, and Camille had picked up her luggage. Her suitcase had been one of the last to arrive on the carousel, and she had become slightly nervous – with a rueful smile, her thoughts had wandered back to the occasions when she had witnessed her former boss getting all worked up about his luggage having been lost – she understood him better now that she had experienced the nervousness about the possibility that her suitcase might not arrive… It had been funny to see him hit the roof back then, but well… obviously, it depended on your personal standpoint.

Luckily, the connecting flight departed from Orly, so at least she didn't have to take the shuttle to Charles de Gaulle airport. That would have been very cumbersome. It seemed that whoever had booked her tickets was a thinking person. She hadn't given any more thought to what this connecting flight was all about… it was part of the adventure. The ticket was booked and paid for, and she'd just go with the flow. She had made a conscious decision that she'd do whatever she was asked to do (as long as it seemed reasonable!) and not ask too many questions. She had a diffuse idea about what might perhaps be happening, but decided not to speculate, but rather wait and see.

The airport was busy. It was good to be here! She had reached the end of the first part of her trip… and now the adventure would really begin! She had changed into city clothes right after customs, and that already had given her a different feeling about herself. She had mostly packed clothing that she had bought during one of her last stays here – 3 years ago she had been here on an IT course, so the things weren't completely outdated… and they still were in top condition as she hadn't worn them on Saint Marie, with the odd exception in between, as they just were a different style from what she usually wore on the island – and made for a different climate. There were also a few of her favourite casual clothes. It would give her comfort to wear those – she knew she had a phase of adjustment ahead of her, and it would be good to have her favourite pair of jeans, a particular blouse, or the light sweatshirt she liked to wear after exercising.

When she had looked in the mirror in the dimly lit airport restroom, she had felt that she needed more than a different outfit – she needed a haircut. Over the past few months she had become a little negligent about her hair – she had just let it grow, but it was getting too long now and looked a bit too scruffy and messy. She knew that she had enough time, so she went straight to the one salon she knew here on the airport and had her hair washed and trimmed to chinlength. It made her feel better about herself immediately – this was a new stage in her life, and a new haircut was a good symbol for this, wasn't it?

After that, Camille bought a magazine at one of the newsstands and found a bistro to sit down and get a sandwich and a large café au lait. As she was idly leafing through her magazine and sipping her coffee, her mind wandered back to what life on Saint Marie after Richard – as she called it – had been like…

The Commissioner had been the one who had talked to Richard's parents about what had happened, of course – he owed that to them, being the supervisor. It had been Camille, however, that Mrs Poole – Margaret, as she called her now – had turned to when she had come to Saint Marie to tie up loose ends and gather Richard's belongings.

Camille had been torn about meeting Richard's mother… on one hand, she had wanted to get to know her, on the other hand, she had been afraid she might not connect with her.

She hadn't had a clear idea of what to expect – her brief phone conversations with Richard's mother had given her a basic impression of a friendly, slightly reserved, not overly fussy older woman who certainly was in a state of shock, but tried to handle the situation with some decency and grace – as difficult as it was. Camille had remembered how Richard had mentioned that his parents had sent him to boarding school at the age of 7 or 8, and she just hadn't been sure what to think of that… in her world, these things didn't happen, mostly because the people she knew weren't wealthy enough to afford boarding school for their kids, but some of her co-workers in France had had parents working in the military or abroad due to other reasons, and they had sent their offspring to boarding schools as well – in order to give them a stable environment and spare them the trouble that usually came along with moving, switching schools and finding new friends every other year or so. From them, she had learnt that their boarding schools had been their home, and that the friendships they had made there had lasted throughout the years – but that some of them had also made some really nasty experiences with classmates… experiences that had left scars, visible and invisible ones.

Camille had wondered if maybe she was too sentimental – she wasn't sure if she was going to have children at all, but she figured that if she ever had any, she would rather take care of them herself than send them off to boarding school. However, she had understood that in some situations, a boarding school could be the most practical option… Still, she had seen the issues that Richard had had to deal with – and many of his fears and his general social awkwardness had been based on the experiences he had made during his school years. She couldn't help it – it had seemed cruel to her that his parents had not taken him away from the school when it had been so clear that he had hated it there…

When she finally had met Margaret, her doubts had disappeared within the first five minutes of their conversation. Richard had mentioned once that his mother was a 'pragmatic' person, and that had been a brief, but good description. He had also said that his father was very reserved and aloof, and Margaret had confirmed that when she and Camille had talked about Richard and how hard it could be to tear down the fences he had built up around him.

"You know," Margaret had said, "I think he inherited that from his father. Robert also is very reserved. Once you've come close to him it's fine, but it takes a while until he warms up to people. It never was an issue in his job as this kind of behaviour was expected from him, but you can imagine that it can be hard to live with someone whose first reaction to trouble is shutting you out. This is why I'm here by myself – he didn't want to come with me. It's not that he doesn't love Richard, he just always had a hard time showing it, and he was afraid that if he came here and got a clearer idea of what our son's life here has been about, he'd break down. And breaking down and giving in to feelings publicly – that's a no-no for him. I understand that, I've been living with him for about 45 years now, and although I sometimes wish it was different, it has never been a real issue for me as I know him, and I know that it doesn't mean he's cold – it's just his way of handling things. And once you've won his trust, he'll be unfailingly loyal."

This description had reminded Camille of Richard and his extreme sense of propriety, and despite the circumstances, she had to smile. She and Margaret had exchanged e-mail addresses and telephone numbers, and they had kept in contact– more or less regularly. It had given Camille comfort to be in touch with Richard's mother, and Margaret had been happy to get a better idea of what her son's life on Saint Marie had been like. Richard had been very private, so she hadn't had much of an idea of the world he had moved to. She had confessed to Camille that she had sometimes felt helpless around him, and self-reproaches about having sent him to boarding school at such a young age had tormented her over and over… but it had seemed to be the best possible option all those years ago.

The Pooles had made their decision back then because of Robert's job – that had required him to travel a lot, and also they had to move regularly. Another aspect had been that they had figured a boarding school would give their son a proper and solid education which would make it easier for him later on – so it hadn't been lack of love, but sense of pragmatism that their decision had been based on. They hadn't realised for a long time that Richard had felt insecure and overwhelmed with all the masses of boys in school, and in hindsight, they had felt guilty that they hadn't understood that he had been more delicate and sensitive than they had assumed.

But there was no way they could change the past.

Camille turned back to her magazine and had a look at some of the articles. She'd hopefully get a good selection of magazines on board of her connecting flight, so she could read through all the interesting parts of this one and then leave it here for someone else, she figured. So for the next two hours, she stayed in the bistro and drank another café au lait and some water – and then she left the magazine on the table, returned her mug and plate, and moved on to the gate of her connecting flight.

Her flight took over another hour, and she was fairly tired when she arrived in London-Heathrow. Her body was somewhere at around 2 a.m. (island time), but it was around 7 a.m. in London now, and although she had been able to sleep during her flights, she felt somewhat shattered. She came through customs and skimmed the people waiting at the gate – no familiar faces showed up, much to her disappointment. She had half hoped to see Margaret. But then again… her flights were paid by the French police force, and they wouldn't send her to London for a private visit. So, her hope had been based on wishful thinking, and she knew it. Well, if nobody came to pick her up, she'd find her own way – it wasn't the first time she was here, after all – and call the Commissioner or her contact person in Paris for further advice.

But then she saw someone holding up a sign saying "Camille Bordey", and she approached the man, greeting him and showing him her passport – and he seemed relieved that she had found him so quickly. He was in his late 20s or early 30s, not overly tall, lean to the extent of being skinny, and his sandy hair was thinning already, but he had a very friendly and open smile, and she noticed that he had a cheerful twinkle in his eyes.

He shook her hand, introduced himself as Sergeant Michael Shaw, flashed a police badge and took her suitcase. He said "Good to meet you, Sergeant Bordey – I was worried I wouldn't find you. Heathrow is rather busy, as you can see, and it can be a little tricky when you're looking for someone you have never met. I understand you've had a long flight, so I guess you don't want me to make a song and a dance but give you all relevant info rightaway. The thing is… it's pretty early, and – er – well… what I'm trying to say is… er…" His awkwardness amused her a little. He reminded her a lot of Richard in his helpless attempts to convey something. Humphrey also had often been at a loss with what to say – and now Micheal Shaw behaved in the same way… so, maybe, it was something English then.

She smiled at him and said "Well, Sergeant Shaw… if you mean to suggest we'd have breakfast before going wherever you want to take me, then I'll be happy to oblige. I had food in Paris, and I got a small snack on the flight here, but I must admit I'm starving for something sweet now." She knew that she'd have to put up with a less than stellar donut and mediocre coffee – at best – but she felt sorry for the younger man who clearly was nervous and didn't quite know what to do with her at this ungodly time in the morning. Most likely he hadn't had any breakfast so far and was hungry himself.

He seemed relieved – and said enthusiastically "Yes, Sergeant Bordey – that's exactly what I wanted to say… there's a bistro at the far end of the hall where we could sit down and have a bite to eat. It's not – er – a posh place, but at least the coffee is tolerable… that is, unless you want to try tea?"

They exchanged some general chit-chat on the way… about the weather, the flight, the city, the differences between London and Paris… He was a friendly young man, and Camille felt that his nervousness dissipated little by little. Finally, they sat down, their breakfast in front of them (a less than stellar donut and mediocre coffee, as Camille had anticipated – but at least she hadn't spent money on it, her companion had done so and put the receipt into his wallet, saying the expenses were paid for…).

Michael Shaw took a sip of his coffee and then said "I suppose you're curious what you're doing here, so I should brief you now on what's next…"


	3. Arrival

After a little while, Camille was finally informed about the reasons that had brought her here. She really hoped that she could get everything sorted out and settled as planned... Since her flight to Paris was only scheduled for Sunday – and it was Tuesday today – she would also have some time for private matters. She was fairly optimistic that the official meetings she would have to attend here in London would not take up all the time, she figured everything would be discussed by Thursday at the latest, so she should be off on Friday and Saturday, and then she surely could squeeze in a visit with Margaret and Robert… and for the next few evenings, she already had tentative plans, anyway – as soon as she had realised she'd go to London, some ideas had formed in her mind…

It was her third time in England since Richard had disappeared from Saint Marie. For her first trip, she had had to escort a suspect – similar to how Richard had escorted Vicky Woodward – and landed in Manchester. She had known for about a week in advance and told Margaret about it – and then confirmed three days before her flight that she would go, and much to her delight, Margaret had called her and asked to come and stay, if there was time.

Camille had been able to extend her visit to the UK by adding a few days of leave – the Commissioner hadn't had any problem with that, but Humphrey had not been too keen… he was capable enough of solving cases without her, and after all, people didn't get murdered literally all the time! - but he had become a little too possessive for her liking…

He was weird in that respect – working with him had been mostly okay, and he really was a very generous man when it came to most things, but he had never liked giving her time off in general, and he had been particularly unenthusiastic when she had asked about time off for training and further education, even if it had only meant a day on Guadeloupe. It had appeared to her like he had wanted her to stay by his side and not broaden her horizon. Apparently, he had been afraid that she'd become a better detective and would maybe feel tempted to leave for greener pastures… But if he had hoped that she didn't see through all that he had been mistaken. His behaviour had not stopped her from going her own way.

Humphrey was polite, nice, sociable and all that – to the extent of being almost boring! -… but the price you had to pay for all this friendliness was that he looked at you reproachfully when you wanted something he didn't approve of – like taking off time! It wasn't even that he didn't think you should relax and take it easy sometimes – it was more that he expected you not to want time off – time away from him, to be more precise. You were supposed to be happy, and if you weren't, he'd try to make you feel guilty. It was actually a very subtle kind of emotional blackmailing.

As she had been trying to convince Humphrey that it wouldn't be the end of the world if she took a week off, Camille had remembered with a wistful smile how Richard had encouraged Fidel to go for the Sergeants' exam when Rosie had been born – which had meant that he would perhaps take the occasional day off for his studies – and he hadn't had any objections when she had signed up for the IT course in Paris, although it had meant they'd have to do without her for a week… and then Richard had had a bout of fever, and Dwayne and Fidel had had to solve the case without any of their senior officers around. Never had she heard any word of reproach from his side, although it certainly had been a challenge to bring the investigations to a succesful ending. And she had just been upset with him for complaining about her mother's chicken soup… only later had she found out how the team had struggled during her absence. She had been a little ashamed of herself then, but well, that had been symptomatic for their relationship back then… lots of misunderstandings and tantrums! And lots of sparks…

There had never been tantrums or misunderstandings like that with Humphrey, and no sparks, either (not that she had wished for the latter with him!) – and his dependence and possessiveness had seriously irritated her. He had kept asking her for the remaining two days before she had left why she wanted to spend time in the UK when it was so much nicer and more pleasant on Saint Marie! As if that had been any of his business… He had finally given in when the Commissioner had intervened and said that Sergeant Bordey had had so much leave accrued that she really had to take some time off now so she wouldn't burn out.

So, she had been able to stay for a few days. After all the official meetings in Manchester had been taken care of, she had taken the train to the Greater London area and gone from there to Horsham in Sussex to stay with the Pooles… and it had been a revelation – finally she had understood where Richard had been coming from. Although this was not his childhood home – his parents had moved several times due to his father's work, and they had finally settled down in Sussex when he retired – the atmosphere in the house and the relationship between Margaret and Robert Poole had been eye-opening.

His father was an older version of Richard – not in regard to looks, except for the same amazing green eyes and the medium build there wasn't too much that the two men had in common when it came to appearance. But Robert Poole had the same reservedness – as Margaret had already indicated – and you had to penetrate a gruff exterior, only to find him really affable then. Camille had definitely profited from her experiences with Richard in this instance – and wrapped Robert around her little finger rather quickly with her natural cheerfulness and kindness.

The second visit had taken place around Christmas last year. Robert had sent a brief e-mail with a casually formulated 'suggestion', but Margaret had literally pleaded with her to come over – she had felt that Camille had become part of the family, and she had written that she 'hoped it wouldn't be asked too much to come and spend the holidays with them this year'…

Camille had been touched by their appeal and booked her flights as soon as she could. Maman had understood – after all the sadness, worries and difficulties that the year had brought for Camille, Catherine had been happy that her daughter had been offered an opportunity to relax a little away from home – and experience a cold Christmas again for a change! Camille had spent Christmas in Paris several times during her training, but mostly she had come home for the holidays while she had been working in France, so it would be an exciting and out-of-the-ordinary experience…

And it had been then when really everything had changed in her life – once again – and she had known that her place definitely was no longer on Saint Marie… she'd only need to find a way to get away from there. Unfortunately, she had missed Fidel's farewell party, but luck had been on her side when Florence had joined the team shortly after her return. She had started to make plans immediately, and when her friend from France had approached her and suggested she'd apply for the position in the international department, she had jumped at the chance. She had teetered a little with her decision when suddenly self-doubts about her qualification had come up and even 'pseudo-included' Humphrey in her ponderings, but deep inside, she had been ready and realised that she had to go now – or she'd wait forever for another chance to come up.

And now that she had taken the plunge… she was excited about what the future would bring. She was nervous, excited and full of hope all at the same time. Would her wishes and dreams come true, or would they fall apart? Would her fantasies materialise, or would she have to admit defeat? She had good reasons for being optimistic, but of course, you never knew…

For the time being, she'd have to play along with what the French – and the British – police had planned for her. It had turned out that the international department in Paris that she was about to join had started a cooperation with the British police a while ago. It was about all sorts of aspects of police work – so it didn't only involve covert policing, but also forensics, investigative faculties, interviewing of witnesses and suspects, criminal justice… in one word: everything. There were joint projects between her department and the Crime Academy that the Met ran, and they were screening police officers of both facilities to see if they were qualified and eligible to participate in the projects – in more or less prominent positions.

The plan was to exchange experiences, train and educate the officers in different methods and give them a chance to learn and think outside the box by getting additional information on how things were run in other countries. That would help to optimise and speed up procedures. There'd also be workshops and seminars. Camille wasn't entirely sure what this all would involve – but it sounded exciting to her. Originally, she had expected she'd mostly do undercover work as that had been why her friend had approached her in the first place, but apparently, they thought she was capable of more - like teaching. Otherwise they wouldn't have sent her here before her official start in Paris. Someone must have recommended her, and whoever it was, she said thank you to them in her heart. This would give her a professional challenge to focus on – besides her other plans.

She asked Michael Shaw to have an eye on her suitcase and excused herself for a moment. A much needed visit to the restroom gave her the opportunity to freshen up a little, and she also took the time to make a phonecall. She left a message on the Pooles' answering machine, informing them about her arrival and letting them know that she'd contact them again when she had a better idea of how her schedule would develop.

When she returned to the bistro, Michael Shaw was waiting outside for her, and they set off to pick up the car that the Met had provided for taking her to her destination. Fortunately, they didn't have to take public transport – Camille was way too tired to deal with that at the moment. She was running on her last reserves now, and she just hoped she'd get a chance to relax, put up her feet and take a nap for a little while before getting back on track with the schedule that was planned for her. She had no idea where he'd take her next, but he enlightened her on the way.

"We're going to the Met's guesthouse now, Sergeant Bordey. It's about an hour away from here, to the North. You can stay there, rest a little, and I'll pick you up again around noon, so you will not feel so shattered any more. Not that you look shattered, but… well, you know…" His voice trailed off.

Actually, Michael Shaw had rarely – if ever - seen a more attractive woman than Camille. He had been vaguely prepared by his superior that she was an 'attractive Caribbean female', but still… when he had seen her coming up to him at the gate, he hadn't dared to believe his eyes. Even after a long intercontinental and a subsequent short inner-European flight, Camille Bordey looked ravishing. He gave her a sideways glance as he was steering the car through the traffic that was getting fairly busy now. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and he assumed that she was very exhausted – although she didn't look like it. There was a hint of fatigue in her movements, but other than that, she seemed perfectly balanced and focused.

Camille was more tired than she wanted to let on. She was glad when they finally arrived… he got the keys to her room, took her upstairs and explained all the little details that needed explaining, then he left her – promising that he'd pick her up again around lunchtime – at around 1 p.m.

That gave her approximately three hours to relax, rest and get prepared for the forthcoming meeting. She couldn't wait to take off her shoes, get undressed and crawl under the blankets. She opened her suitcase and took out the cobalt blue sleepshirt (with a bright yellow sun printed on the front – it reminded her of Saint Marie!) that she had packed this time – she had learnt the hard way that sleeping naked could be a bit risky in drafty hotel rooms (not to mention that emergency situations could require a quick exit, and who'd want to fumble for a T-shirt then?), and even though it was currently summer in Europe, she knew that this didn't necessarily mean that it was going to be warm and sunny. On the way to the guesthouse, it had been drizzling, and she had been thankful for the umbrella that Shaw had conjured up from the depths of the boot when they got off the car.

The room she had was simple – typical public service run guesthouse style with unpretentious, functional furnishing – but it had all necessary amenities, and when she finally had closed the curtains and set the alarm on her phone, she stretched out in the single bed and closed her eyes.

She didn't fall asleep rightaway, though – she was overtired from the trip. So, she directed her thoughts to the past once again, trying to channel her hopes and wishes and give them a distinct direction so she could see more clearly and focus on the future she envisioned.

Her mind wandered back to that dreadful day… almost 18 months ago now. She felt the shock and agonizing pain again that had come over her when she had realised that the emergency call they had received at the station had come from the villa that Richard's so-called friends had rented… the place that he had gone to for the 'reunion' – that he had clearly not been keen on.

Considering that these people had been supposed to be his old close-knit 'clique' from university, he had seemed extremely disinterested. Or rather… ambivalent. Like he had known he had to go, but hadn't really wanted to. Later she had found out why – and it had turned out that his instinct had not failed him…

 **Note:** The Met Crime Academy exists, and there are all sorts of courses and training available for police officers, obviously. I have no idea, though, how they are organised – so if there are any glaring mistakes, please forgive me, and file it under artistic liberty!


	4. Memories

Camille forced herself to live through those frightening moments again that she had gone through when they had found Richard in the lounger – lifeless. While she had been wailing, shrieking and crying her heart out on Dwayne's shoulder, Fidel had called the paramedics, secured the crime scene and requested the witnesses (and suspects!) to stay where they were.

In a split second, Camille had come to fully realise what Richard had meant to her – and what she had lost. Dwayne had held her in his arms, murmuring words of comfort – knowing precisely that nothing he could say would make a difference. Richard's shirt had been drenched with his blood, his head had rolled to one side. If she'd live a hundred years… she'd never forget this, and her heart seemed to turn to stone again now that she compelled herself to remember the scene.

The paramedics had tried to re-animate him and taken him into the ambulance car, though, and much later, Camille had heard that they had successfully brought him back to life. The icepick had missed its target by mere centimetres… so he wasn't dead, but he had suffered cardiac arrest from the extreme shock of having been attacked and hurt brutally, and he had consequently been unconscious. It was a typical reaction to an extreme stress situation, as she'd been told by the doctors later on.

By the time Humphrey had arrived on the scene, he hadn't been out of danger yet, and the doctors had put him into an artificial coma to give his body rest and a chance to recover. An information blackout had been decreed, and nobody – except the Commissioner – had received any news from the hospital. For weeks, he'd been in the coma. It hadn't taken Humphrey and Camille very long to find out who had attacked Richard (and ironically, his diaries had been the key to the solution… so he had helped them indirectly), and once Sasha – or rather Helen – had been arrested and the others of the clique had left the island, Richard's mother had flown in. By then, his condition had been fairly stable, though still critical.

The Commissioner had informed his parents, they had also spoken to the doctors, and according to their advice, Margaret had booked her flight. She had come over and done everything that had been necessary at that point – the doctors had said that he could be transported, but no further than Guadeloupe – the hospital there was more advanced and better equipped, and considering the high standard of the health system over there – which was just as good as it was in the motherland France – he had a better chance to get proper treatment there. The hospital on Saint Marie just couldn't cope with a severe case like this.

Selwyn Patterson had introduced her to Camille, and Margaret – authorized to do so as Richard's closest relative - had allowed her to continue seeing Richard after she had spoken to Camille. She had seen at a glance that this beautiful, resolute and exotic woman was in love with her son, and while Richard – being his usual reserved self - had never said anything about Camille being special to him, she had remembered how he had shown her pictures of the team during his brief visit at home when he had escorted Vicky Woodward to the UK, and his eyes had lit up when he had spoken about his DS. His voice had sounded tender, and Margaret had instantly understood that her son had felt drawn towards her and most likely had fallen in love already, maybe without being aware of it – she hadn't told Camille until the last day of her stay, though, that she was sure that Richard felt more for her than just friendship. By then, she had obviously known that Camille's feelings were very deep and serious, and she had realised it would be a lifesaver for Richard to have Camille by his side.

Camille remembered how fragile Richard had looked in the hospital bed. She had hardly seen him behind all the machines and tubes, but she had been so relieved that he was alive and that he had good chances to recover fully again – eventually. He'd need good care, time and some luck, obviously…

Tears welled up behind her closed eyelids as she lay in her narrow bed in the guesthouse… and she recalled how she had squeezed his hand to say goodbye when he had been shipped off to Guadeloupe. He hadn't reacted – he had still been in the coma. Together with Humphrey Goodman and Camille, Margaret had gathered Richard's belongings and boxed them so they could get shipped home to England – he wouldn't return to Saint Marie, even if he recovered completely. The Met had sent Humphrey, and Richard would be transported back to the UK as soon as he could cope with a long flight like this. And then… they'd have to wait and see.

Camille hadn't been able to visit Richard regularly on Guadeloupe, but she had done her best, particularly after Margaret had left. When she had seen him the last time –just a few days before his transport home – he had been in a strange daze, and he had been hallucinating, so she hadn't been sure if he had recognized her. He had recovered from this state, though – so a week later, he had been gone, accompanied by a care assistant that his parents had hired for the flight.

She had been determined not to lose contact with him, though, and so she had made every effort to keep in touch. Obviously, he hadn't been able to communicate at this point, so she had corresponded with his mother via e-mail, sent the occasional greeting card via postal mail so he'd have something more 'tangible' to hold on to, and then – when the opportunity had come up and she had escorted that suspect to Manchester – she had visited the Pooles. That had been about a year ago…

Richard had been in rehab, and she had only seen him twice during her short stay. It had been a little sobering to see him like that – he had suffered from all sorts of aftereffects of the cardiac arrest, the coma and surgery he had had to undergo… every once in a while, he had had bouts of paralysis when he couldn't use the left side of his body, and his memory had suffered – it hadn't been amnesia to an alarming extent, but he had issues finding the right words (a fact that he joked about as – according to him - he had never been known to be the most nimble-witted person on the planet, anyway), and sometimes he had mixed up the timeline of events. Also, he had tended to be a little more nervous and jumpy. It wasn't anything irreversible, though – the doctors said it was all about giving his body enough time.

But he had still been Richard – and his personality and character had still been the same, though a bit more mellow. He still had come up with his typical deadpan remarks, and he had still been fairly reserved… Regular moderate exercising in rehab had ensured that he hadn't suffered too much in regard to muscle mass and fitness – and he had been determined to get fit again. He had been frustrated with his situation, but at least he was alive – a fact that neither he nor the ones who loved him took for granted any more at this time.

Margaret had warned Camille that he would perhaps be a little stand-offish towards her because of his condition, but Camille had laughed it off and remarked that she had heard so many unflattering things from Richard over the time of their cooperation that she couldn't get shocked easily. Margaret had raised her eyebrows – she had read parts of Camille's e-mails to him, and he had never said anything unflattering – he had smiled ruefully a couple of times, chuckled quietly or made a sarcastic remark, but none of the things he had said had been derogatory.

But that was something Camille had only learnt later – at the time she had come to visit for the first time, she hadn't been aware of how intently he had listened when his mother had told him about the e-mails, and how his eyes had betrayed him when Margaret had mentioned Camille. However, through her correspondence with Margaret she had understood a little better why he had not written to her – it had hurt her at first, but when she had heard about all the details regarding his health issues and the mix of experiences in rehab, she had figured it would be best to give him time. He would come around… they had shared too much for him to just let go and forget – or hadn't they?

He had been in physiotherapy when the Pooles and Camille had arrived, and they had told the receptionist in the practice to let him know that his parents were waiting for him in the park of the rehab centre.

Richard and his parents had agreed on a bench in the garden as a meeting point for when the weather was good and in the cafeteria for the more dismal or cooler days. Robert and Margaret had sat on the bench while Camille had been standing next to a nearby tree. She had wanted him to see her rightaway – a surprise would perhaps not have been good for him, considering why he was in rehab. It had been a rather warm day for English standards, but for someone who had just come from the Caribbean, it had almost been a little chilly, so she had been wearing jeans and a long sleeved blue checkered blouse, along with sensible shoes and socks. Much to her surprise, she had seen many women with bare legs, wearing sandals – that had baffled her. But then, it was all a matter of what you're used to…

When he had come out of the building, in sneakers, a loose white polo shirt and navy sweatpants (what a contrast to the dark suits, shirts and brogues she'd been used to seeing him in!) and headed towards the bench, he had looked at his parents at first, but then he had noticed her – and he clearly hadn't dared to believe his eyes… only when she had come up to him he had fully understood that she was real…

Camille sighed now, lost in the memory of how a happy smile had crept up on his face. She hadn't been quite sure about how to approach him after all those months, but all of a sudden it had been perfectly easy – she had met him halfway and hugged him… and much to her joy, she had felt how his arms had come around her to hold her. She hadn't been aware of the tears streaming down her face – only when he had joked gently "Er – Camille – you're soaking my shirt… Is it that bad to see me alive?"

She had laughed – it had come out a bit wobbly – and said "I should have known you'd still be your grumpy self!" He had stroked her hair and said softly "I'm not grumpy, Camille". It had sounded like a caress.

Then they had sat down with his parents and talked for a few minutes… until Margaret and Robert had got up to go for a walk and left them alone for a while. It had been so good to see him, and it hadn't mattered to her at all that he sometimes had to scramble for words or got confused about the order of events – those were temporary issues, and he'd recover completely with time, as Margaret had reassured her.

There hadn't been any confessions during that visit – they had mostly talked about how he was doing and what progress he was making, but when she had come again by herself for the second visit, there had been a little more physical contact – he had taken her hand a couple of times, and when she had reluctantly made ready to leave, wondering if her visit maybe had been in vain and his feelings for her were not what she had hoped them to be after all, he had apparently realised he would not see her again in a long time – if ever – and he had found his courage.

They had been standing in his room in the rehab centre, close to the door – she had already pressed down the handle and just turned around one last time to look at him. The words had tumbled out of her mouth uncontrollably… "So, I guess this is it?" she had asked sadly… He had come closer, and before she could have made a move, he had taken her in his arms – a little awkwardly, but determinedly.

"Camille… I don't want you to go," he had whispered, and his face had been very close. She had been mesmerised by the look in his eyes – they had been full of love and tenderness. Never before had she seen him showing his feelings like that – completely unfiltered and unreserved.

"I don't want to leave you, either," she had replied softly, put her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. His kiss had been a little shy at first – but soon enough, he had become more forward. When they had broken apart for air, he had said "I've wanted to do this for so long already…" He hadn't come any further as Camille had kissed him then… but eventually, they had realised that Camille really had to leave… There hadn't been any way around it. If only… but well, entertaining useless thoughts and dwelling on things that could not be changed never had been Camille's way of handling a situation. So, she had left him, with a heavy heart.

With very mixed feelings she had returned to Saint Marie. On one hand, she loved her work, and it had been good to be back. On the other hand, though, she had felt clearly that her place was elsewhere… She had only told the team that their old Chief was doing okay – considering the circumstances – but she hadn't even told her mother rightaway what had happened during her visit. Catherine had felt that Camille had undergone a change, but she hadn't pressed her for further details.

She had promised to come back, but months had gone by before she could return. In the meantime, Richard had returned to work – they had given him a DI position in a North London station, with reduced hours at this point, so he could settle in. It was a full time position, but during the first few months he had only worked 60% of the regular hours, sharing his workload with a relief officer who worked 50% at another station and took over the 40% from Richard. It had mostly been administrative and internal work, and he hadn't cared all that much for it, but he had realised that it would take him a while to be fit for regular work again.

Camille hugged her pillow and smiled happily as the memories of Christmas came back…


	5. Progress

Robert's and Margaret's invitation had come in early December. Robert had sent an e-mail, talking about the weather (like so many English people, he was obsessed with this topic – you knew where you were with the weather, after all!) and saying something along the lines that he wished she could see the frosty meadows behind their house with her own eyes – maybe she'd like to come over and have a look? Camille had laughed about that, but in her heart she had wished she could indeed go and see the Pooles again. But she couldn't really impose herself like that…

Then, on the next day, Margaret had sent a long, detailed e-mail, talking about Richard's return to work – Camille and he had talked on the phone and skyped from time to time, but with the time difference, it had been difficult, and so they mostly had sent e-mails… but Richard being Richard meant that his e-mails had been mostly about concrete things, rather brief and not very regular. Camille had understood that. With returning to work, finding his feet at the new station and still struggling with the occasional health issue, he had had so much on his mind that he couldn't really turn on the blarney and flatter her with honeyed words and applesauce – and of course, he wasn't the type who'd write about his feelings, anyway. But he had ended all his e-mails with almost outrageously emotional clumps of x's and o's – so she had known he wasn't unfeeling. He just didn't know how to convey his emotions – that had never been his strong side. At least he had regularly told her how much he missed her... and Camille had missed him, too… She had replayed the few hours they had spent together in her head over and over and wished that they had had more time for talking – and other things.

In her e-mail, Richard's mother had pointed out how hard it had been for him to find his place in the new work environment, how he had struggled more than he had wanted to admit, how he sometimes had been broody and gone through mood swings. She had also mentioned how Camille had been a ray of sunshine for them all, and how Robert and she had loved to get to know her. And she had closed with telling Camille how much it would mean to the entire family if she accepted their invitation and made it possible to come over for Christmas…

It had been late at night when Camille had read the e-mail. She had written back immediately - "Are you serious?" – and the reply had been there on the next morning: "Absolutely. But don't tell Richard. We want it to be a surprise." So, she had booked her flights – after another struggle with Humphrey who had seemed to have a hunch that he might lose her before too long and hence had not wanted to let her go. But she had managed to get two entire weeks off – again, she had to thank the Commissioner for intervening. She had been wondering about his generosity and about how much he might know about her motives, but he had only smiled enigmatically when she had thanked him.

It had been ridiculous how Humphrey had tried to tie her to Saint Marie – and to him – and she had been seriously annoyed with his behaviour. Of course, he had objected to her request for time off and said that it was Christmas and asked reproachfully how she could spend the holidays away from home (and from him – he hadn't said that, though)… It was a thinly veiled attempt to make her feel guilty for going away when his life had fallen apart...

Well, of course, he'd been feeling lonely because his marriage had failed, but that wasn't her fault, was it? She had to go her own way… and she wasn't his nanny, after all. Yes, of course… Humphrey had been good to her – and his encouragement and support had been welcome and much appreciated in a number of situations that she had found challenging – particularly the moment when she had had that unexpected encounter with her father and had to deal with ambivalent emotions – but that didn't mean that he was entitled to meddle with her life. Nobody had the right to do that. She was willing to respect and consider other people's opinions, but she made her own decisions.

Maman had understood. She had seen Camille nearly fall apart after Richard had been attacked, and although she hadn't quite grasped what her daughter saw in Richard, she had understood that Camille loved him and needed to be with him. So, she hadn't said much when she had taken her to the airport… She had wished her a safe trip, a happy stay, and a healthy return – that had been all. No reproaches for not spending the holidays at home with her, no attempts to make her ride the guilt trip… it had been liberating to know that her mother was on her side.

And so Camille had arrived in the UK again… two days before Christmas, in the early evening of the 23rd, almost half a year after her last visit. She had spent most of the following day sleeping and recovering from the trip – the Pooles had given her the same guestroom in the upstairs of their house again. There was a comfy kingsize bed, and as a precautionary measure, Margaret had laid out the large duvet, along with a huge handmade quilt for Camille so she wouldn't freeze. She even had given her a hot water bottle – and her thoughtfulness had been much appreciated!

When they had moved into this house, the Pooles had decided to renovate and remodel the house so they could occupy one of the downstairs sitting rooms as their bedroom with an ensuite bathroom – against the usual customs – because they had felt that the older they got the more difficult it would be for them to climb stairs. Besides a full bathroom, there were a small boxroom used for storage and two fairly large bedrooms upstairs – one was the guestroom, the other one was what Margaret called her "sewing sanctuary" – there was a convertible sofabed, plus a comfy armchair, a sideboard and a small table - along with a cupboard full of material for sewing, quilting and other sorts of needlework, and a sewing machine. A huge collection of books and magazines about crafting completed the collection.

So, Camille had had the upper floor all to herself, and she had slept like a baby for hours, tired from the trip, the climate change, and all the recent stress back on Saint Marie. In the late afternoon, Margaret had come to wake her. Richard would be there for dinner – he'd stay until the 27th - , and she had wanted Camille to have enough time to get ready so she could join them for the meal. In most families, the major holiday meal took place on Christmas Day, but the Pooles had different traditions and already started their celebrations on Christmas Eve. Nobody remembered where this tradition had come from, but it had been around for so long that it was taken as a matter of course.

Camille had had butterflies in her stomach as she had got ready. What would it be like to see him again? Had his feelings changed? Hers certainly hadn't… She had felt well-rested and refreshed after her shower as she had put on her holiday attire – long smart black trousers, a bright red longsleeved cowlneck shirt with black frilly seams on sleeves and hemline, sheer transparent stockings and black strappy court shoes (the heels were moderate… she didn't want to tower above Richard) – and Margaret's appreciative glance had encouraged her when she had come downstairs and joined Richard's parents in the sitting room. Robert's eyes had nearly popped out of his face and he had cleared his throat before a benevolent "Er… you look very – um…. - pretty, Camille!" had come out of his mouth. He had sounded so much like Richard that she had had to laugh… and she had known it was a huge compliment.

The evening had been a full success. She had waited in the sitting room while his parents had greeted him in the hall upon his arrival, and Margaret had asked him – feigning innocence – if he had heard from Camille. He had mentioned the greeting card she had sent and said he'd try to call her on the next day… then the door had opened, and she had stood there, right in the middle of the room, in front of the Christmas tree, smiling at him. He had forgotten his parents in an instant, and his sense of propriety had fallen to the wayside, too – with two big steps he had come up to her, taken her in his arms and kissed her senseless. Margaret and Robert had watched their oh-so-reserved son and his French-Caribbean girlfriend for a moment, then they had tiptoed out of the room and busied themselves in the kitchen.

Dinner had been wonderful – Margaret had made the traditional roast beef with all the trimmings – and the atmosphere had been relaxed and happy. It had been an evening full of merry conversation, chit-chat, banter and laughter, and it had been obvious that for the first time in years, Richard's parents had had the impression that their son really was feeling at home in their house. And they had been clearly touched to see the amorous glances that he and Camille exchanged.

Eventually, around midnight, Margaret and Robert had wanted to retire – and considering that their bedroom was right across the hallway from the sitting room, Camille had felt it appropriate to say good night as well. So, she and Richard had climbed the stairs to the first floor – Margaret had prepared the sewing sanctuary for him – and stopped in front of the door to her room. He had dropped his bag, and in the dim light coming up from the small lamp downstairs, he had looked at her – a big question mark in his eyes, along with a mix of insecurity, shyness and longing.

She had taken his hand, opened the door to her room and pulled him inside after her, the door had closed behind them – and if either of them had felt unsure about whether or not it was appropriate to do this in his parents' house, the doubts had disappeared quickly as they had fallen into each others' arms and forgotten the world around them. The bed had squeaked loudly - almost obscenely - when they had crashed on it, and they had giggled together. It had been a good thing to know that his parents' bedroom was located on the other side of the house…

When their laughter had subsided, Richard had looked into her eyes, inquiringly – wordlessly asking for her consent (that she had given him happily with a little smile and a fluttering of her eyelashes) - and then started to kiss her, gingerly and with great tenderness – and ultimately with increasing passion. It had been the overture to the most wonderful lovemaking that Camille had ever experienced, and she had never felt so cherished before. He had been incredibly gentle and eager to please her, and his hands and lips had set her on fire… It had been so good to finally feel him!

When Richard had fallen asleep, Camille had looked at his calm and relaxed face, one of her hands had rested lightly on his chest so she could feel him breathing, and she had felt a wave of love and protective instinct washing over her. Then she had turned to the lamp beside the bed that had witnessed their passion, switched off the light and snuggled up to him… carefully – so she wouldn't disturb his sleep…

Margaret and Robert had pretended that they hadn't noticed what had happened, but of course they had known… they weren't blind, after all. They had been happy for Camille and Richard, and when Richard had left again on the 27th and taken Camille with him, they had just smiled. The remainder of her stay had been split between Richard's house in the North of London – his house in Croydon had been sold in the meantime – and his parents' place in Horsham. She had never been so happy in all her life. He had had to work for a few days, but she had explored the surrounding area on her own, and when he had come back in the evenings, they had made themselves comfortable in his home, cooked together and talked about anything and everything – with the occasional heated argument in between, thrown in for good measure.

And the nights had been filled with love, tenderness and passion.

She had found out that Richard had had more than enough time to think about his past, present and future during his reconvalescence after the icepick attack in the beginning of that year, and he had understood that life was fragile, and even if you were somewhat set in your ways, stuck with your personality and uncomfortable with change – you'd have to take risks, step out of your comfort zone and grab chances if you wanted to be happy with your life.

So, when Camille had showed up and he had been given the chance to make a move – he had done so, despite his insecurities and self-doubts. He'd never be an adventurous man, but Camille had known him for so long already – she didn't expect him to jump through hoops and mutate into a daredevil. She was daredevil enough for both of them, actually, and she appreciated and cherished the deep feeling of security that he gave her. He also gave her the freedom to be who she was – and he didn't want to tie her down, put pressure on her, or throw obstacles in her way to gain control over her. With him, she could be honest and "raw".

When the new year had arrived, he had told her that he loved her. It had come out haltingly, but he had said it… she had been touched by the vulnerable, apprehensive and longing look in his eyes… and of course she had known without him saying it... but had made her incredibly happy that he had actually expressed his feelings and told her.

And they had promised each other to try everything they could to have a life together. At least they wanted to be able to spend more time together. They couldn't do that with Camille being on Saint Marie and him being in the UK, but France and the UK… that was a much more realistic scenario. So, she had put out her feelers, refreshed a few old contacts and made efforts to get a transfer… and suddenly, a door had opened.

Well, and here she was… half a year later it had finally happened. She had a job in France, her new department appeared to be connected to an organisation in the UK, and she and Richard could hopefully spend more time together… she prayed that it would all fall into place.

With this thought, she finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	6. Denouément

Camille woke up to the buzzing of her phone. It was noon – time to get up. She stretched groggily, got up and padded into the tiny 'wet room' that was attached to her room. After a shower, she felt a lot better – and she thanked her instinct to bring one of the plastic shower caps she had picked up in another hotel ages ago. Her hairdo hadn't suffered too much, fortunately… Whoever it was that she'd have to see in that mysterious meeting – she didn't want the person to think she was sloppy. After all, there's only one opportunity to make a first impression… As she packed her beauty utensils, she slipped the little box with the compass ring – that she had taken off as soon as she had boarded the plane in Pointe-à-Pitre – into her toiletry bag. She didn't need a compass to find her way – she was precisely where she wanted to be, after all.

As she wasn't sure if she'd stay in the guesthouse or if it only was a pitstop on the way to another place, she packed up her belongings again after getting dressed and laid out the blankets so it would be easy to make the bed if she returned – and easy for whoever cleaned up the room if she didn't.

She made another attempt at calling the Pooles, but there was only the answering machine again. Then, she sent a text to her mother – she had already informed her when she had landed in Paris, then again when she had arrived in Heathrow. But Maman was worried about her – she was the only one who knew about Camille's relationship to Richard, and while she understood that her daugher had to follow her heart and her dreams, she still couldn't stop being a mother who was worrying about her child.

She also sent a text to Richard – for the moment she couldn't make any commitments as she wasn't sure about her schedule, but she knew she'd have a chance to see him later on as she had a few days here in the UK… "Guess where I am" said the text… She figured he'd read it during his lunchbreak – or maybe he'd be out and ignore the phone? Well, she'd see.

A glance in the mirror (that had very efficiently been glued to the backside of the entrance door) showed her that she was presentable. She had put on another outfit and now wore a dark anthracite coloured suit with a knee length pencil skirt and a short jacket, along with a classical burgundy blazer shirt, and she looked very professional and elegant. The black heels completed the outfit. They were moderate, so she could walk in them, yet they looked sophisticated.

When Michael Shaw saw her coming out of the lift – he had phoned her from the lobby - as he didn't want to intrude on her privacy - and advised her to bring her luggage – his eyes got wider. Good grief, this woman was a bomb. He had certainly seen attractive female police officers before, but this one was beyond belief. Did all French female police officers look like models? He was looking forward to seeing the faces of the other guys when they'd see him accompanying her into the building… Of course, he knew it was silly, but it gave him a triumphant feeling. She was way out of his league – but well, that didn't mean he couldn't take advantage of being her chauffeur for the day!

She approached him with a friendly smile, and when he asked politely if she had been able to rest, she said "Oh yes, thank you so much – that was exactly what I needed" – with the most wonderful French accent he had ever heard. He had already noticed it before, but now that she was a bit more relaxed, her voice sounded even more melodious.

He was so fascinated that he almost missed her next question. "So, what are we going to do now, Sergeant Shaw?" She smiled at how his expression sobered a little – she had seen many men admiring her, so she knew how to deal with them. "Oh – ah… sorry, Sergeant Bordey… I was thinking of – er… Well, if you don't mind, we're going to the – er – Crime Academy now, that is, the department that cooperates with the unit in France and organises the joint courses – er…"

The tired looking receptionist nodded absentmindedly when Camille returned her key, then – when Camille asked about the bill – looked up and said that everything had been taken care of already, and they went outside to the car. It had stopped drizzling, fortunately, and the sun had come out. If all went well, it would be a nice afternoon. She hoped she'd have some time to sit in the sunshine and drink coffee before she could meet Richard later on. She was mildly surprised about how she wasn't offered further accommodation in the guesthouse, but she hadn't intended to stay, anyway, and if yes, it would have been maybe just for a night, so while it puzzled her just a little, she didn't think about it any further – if she couldn't stay with Richard for whatever reason, she could always take a hotel room.

They drove for a while, and finally, Shaw pointed to a big brick building at a corner and said "There it is. But we have to go to the – er – car park, obviously – and I'll take you to the department from there."

It took them a few minutes to reach the garage and find a spot. Camille was getting a little nervous now, but didn't let it show. Shaw took her suitcase and rolled it to a lift that brought them to ground level. They had to walk a short distance, then they entered the building he had shown her from outside. They came through a side entrance that wasn't open to the public – he opened it with a chip card – still, a security officer was sitting in a glass cubicle, eyebrows raised as he found himself interrupted while he was reading the paper. Shaw greeted him, and both he and Camille were waved through the security check. Now, that was lax, she thought – but well, alright with her…

Another hallway, another lift… it was a good thing she didn't have to find her way on her own in this rabbit warren! Michael Shaw made polite conversation with her, and she noticed with an inward smile how he spread his feathers like a peacock when they encountered colleagues of his. The British clearly were easily impressed, she thought with a suppressed smile – she noticed his colleagues' gawping with amusement.

Finally… they had reached another wing of the building, closed off with a glass door that had clearly been built in very recently – in this old-fashioned and slightly run down building, it looked a little anachronistic and almost displaced in its modernity. The sign on it said "Crime Academy, International Department". A note on a sheet of paper was attached to the glass door, saying "Visitors – ring bell, please" in uneven handwriting – and a crooked arrow indicated the direction where the bell could be found. Camille grinned. That was funny – and a little amateurish. She liked it – it reminded her of Saint Marie.

Her companion took out his chip card, the door swung open, and he stepped aside so she could pass. "I'll take you right there," he said. "The Chief - well, that's not his official title, but we – the team here - all call him the Chief! There also is a Superintendent, obviously… - wants to talk to you personally… It's at the end of the corridor, right hand side". They went on and then stopped in front of the wooden door. Before Camille could steal a glance at the sign next to the door, Shaw had knocked, and she heard someone saying "Come in" from inside. It sounded absently and a little muffled as if the speaker was not facing the door.

"Sergeant Shaw, sir – and here's Detective Sergeant Bordey for you, sir!" With a zappy movement, Michael Shaw had opened the door, nodded to Camille so she'd move forward, and placed her suitcase close to the wall right next to the doorframe.

Camille saw the back of a black swivel armchair. This was getting really silly, she thought, but she still kept a straight face. A suspicion crept up in her, but she shoved it aside, curious to find out what was next.

The armchair turned around, and its occupant gazed at her – intense green eyes met hers, and Camille almost burst out with laughter – but controlled herself.

Richard – in a dark grey woollen suit, a light blue dress shirt, a grey tie with burgundy and dark blue stripes and the inevitable black, polished brogues - got up and came towards her, acting very formally and solemnly. He extended his hand, and Camille shook it, a little smile on her face. He cleared his throat, nodded and said "Yes… - er – excellent! Thanks, Shaw… very kind of you to take care of Sergeant Bordey… I'm sure she appreciates your efforts."

Camille took the cue and turned towards Shaw. She granted him a radiant smile that made him blush wildly and said "Yes, thank you so much, Sergeant – it was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope we'll have the chance to work together some time."

Shaw stuttered something polite and stood there like he was trying to grow roots. An amused, yet slightly impatient coughing from Richard brought him back to his senses, he blushed even more and turned around on his heels to leave his superior's office. He hadn't felt so stupid since his teenage years, but this Sergeant Bordey really was quite something. He wondered how his somewhat stuffy boss was connected to a woman like her. He hadn't given him any hint in that respect when he had asked him to pick her up at Heathrow. Perhaps someone had recommended her for the international department?

His 'stuffy boss' currently was engaged in kissing his former Detective Sergeant thoroughly before pulling back a little and saying – appreciatively – "Nice hairdo, Camille… and I really like this suit. Very – er – becoming. And tasteful colour combination… You look a lot more professional than you did on Saint Marie…" He came closer again and whispered "You had your hair like this when I first met you…" "Did I?" she responded and smiled playfully, weaving her fingers into his hair. "I didn't think you ever paid much attention to my appearance when you lived on Saint Marie…"

"Oh, ye of little faith," he said and raised his eyebrows, still holding her. "As if I'd ever forget that bikini… or your checkered blouse. Or that red dress. Or any other of your colourful trousers, tops, skirts or dresses… I never kept a record, but there's not a single outfit you didn't look absolutely amazing in, my little chameleon!" A little embarrassed by his emotional outburst, he cleared his throat, said softly "Welcome to London, Camille" and kissed her again.

After a little while, he finally let her go. "Er… well, right… let's talk business then," he said and gestured to the little teatable and two upholstered chairs in a corner of his rather spacious office.

They sat down, and as he explained, everything began to fall into place. Camille learnt that he had been given a new position a little over two months ago when he had approached HR and discussed his future occupation with the officer in charge. It had been time for him to return to working full time, and he had made it clear that while he didn't really feel fit at this point to go back to the kind of job he had done in Croydon, he didn't find his current work very satisfying, either. So, they had offered him a teaching position at the Crime Academy – forensics, investigation techniques, that kind of thing… He'd also be the Superintendent's 'right hand' and deputy.

Unfortunately, as the officer had said apologetically, he'd also have to help to build up the international department, make contacts and maintain the network then – which would involve doing paperwork, attending official events and dishing out blandishment (not his particularly strong side).

Initially, Richard hadn't been entirely sure if that was the right thing for him – the teaching part appealed to him, but he wasn't so sure about the rest. But then they had sweetened the offer with a promotion to DCI, plus the promise that he could make suggestions and decide on whom to cooperate with, and that included the partners for the international exchanges in the teaching department.

He hadn't told her about all this in detail – she had known about his return to full time work, but he had hesitated to give her more information as he hadn't been sure how it would all pan out. Shortly after his 'inauguration', he had been introduced to his French counterpart who held the equivalent position in the team in Paris… and that had made him think. And act, eventually.

Camille stared at him, open-mouthed. "So it had been because of you that they approached me on Saint Marie?" she asked incredulously. He nodded, not quite sure if she maybe felt offended now because he hadn't said anything. But she just laughed out loud and called him a conspirator and a schemer.

He explained that her headquarter would be in Paris, but she'd come over to teach in London regularly – sometimes for a week, sometimes for longer -, plus there'd be regular meetings of the French and the British departments (in Paris and in London) that both of them would be supposed to attend… so they'd get together on a regular basis. And of course he'd have to travel to Paris every once in a while as well.

He finished with a hopeful "So, what do you say, Camille… is that a good start?" She noticed the slight tension on his face. When he saw her smile, he eased up, however, and he seemed rather satisfied with how she moved over, sat on his lap and kissed him.

Eventually, they broke apart again. He angled for his keychain, took off the spare key to the house and gave it to her. "Time for you to go home, darling. I have to stay here for a little longer, but I'm sure my parents will be more than happy to entertain you – they are waiting for you in our house."

Camille's eyes were brimming with tears of joy as she heard him saying 'our house'. Her smile was happy. She clasped the key in her hand, gave him a last kiss, then got up and took her suitcase. As she opened the door, she looked back over her shoulder and gave him an enticing look. "See you later, darling – and hurry!" He smiled, and the door shut behind her with a soft 'click'…

She was going home.


End file.
